Grandpa wanted to see the machines, so they meandered across the field to where the metal beasts stood, claws folded, stinking of oil and diesel. There was no one around. Leon unfolded the walker and Grandpa sat down to wait. ‘Your neighbour was good,’ the old man said. ‘I liked his owl.’

‘Yeah.’ Leon didn’t want to compliment Shane. ‘I suppose you get good with a saw, if that’s all you do.’

Grandpa was onto him. ‘You don’t like him much, do you?’

‘He hasn’t exactly been welcoming … And he’s a puppy killer.’

‘So he was the one, was he? He has different values from yours, and that’s hard for you.’

Leon shrugged. ‘People who can’t look after animals shouldn’t be allowed to own them.’

‘You didn’t expect it to be easy fitting into a new town, did you?’

‘No. That’s why I play footy—to meet people and find a way in.’

‘Is it working?’

‘I’m trying my best to be neutral.’

‘That might be your problem. Maybe they can’t work you out. A man has to stand for something or he’s nobody.’

‘It’s a timber town, Grandpa. No one will kick to me if I tell them I want to save trees.’

‘You can’t let them walk over you.’

‘Nobody’s walking over me.’

Grandpa cocked an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure?’ He switched his gaze to the machines with their specialised claws. ‘Don’t know where the industry’s heading.’ He frowned. ‘It’s all woodchips now.’

‘High turnover for quick cash,’ Leon said. ‘The loggers say trees are renewable so the government ought to give them access to more forest so they can get enough sawlog.’

‘That’s bull,’ Grandpa said. ‘Trees for sawlog take a lifetime to grow. Don’t they want jobs in twenty years’ time?’

While they were talking, Leon had noticed a small group of people striding across the field towards them: three young men and two women. The men wore fleece jackets and jeans, and one was carrying a medium-sized camera with a microphone attached. One woman was older and grey-haired, in a stylish beige coat, while the other looked much younger, probably mid-twenties, and she was dressed more like the men. Leon’s mental radar started beeping. They didn’t look like loggers—something about their clothes and their determined way of walking. Instinct told him to move away. ‘We need to go,’ he said, tugging Grandpa to his feet and packing up the walker. ‘We can come back later.’

Grandpa resisted. ‘I want to see the machines in action.’

As the group passed them, Leon saw the men toting backpacks. ‘That lot are up to something,’ he said. ‘And we don’t want to get caught in it.’

Then he wished he hadn’t said anything, because Grandpa wouldn’t budge after that.